FROM   THE   LIBRARY  OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE    LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


THE 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION: 


A   POEM. 


-Thou  bounteous  Giver  of  all  "noi, 


Tlicrj  art  of  all  thy  gifts  Thyself  the  crown, 
(iive  what  tliou  canst,  without  Thee  we  are  poor, 
And  with  Thee  rich,  tuke  what  thou  wilt  away. 

Cou>ptf\ 


KEW-YOKK: 

PUBLISHED  BY  WILEY  AND  HALSTED. 
C.  S.  VAN  WINKLE,  PRINTER, 


1820. 


Southern  District  of  yen-York,  ss  : 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  that  on  the  thirty-first  day 
of  July,  in  the  forty-fifth  year  of  the  Independence  of  the 
United  States  of  America,  C.  S.  Van  Winkle,  of  the  said  dis- 
trict, hath  deposited  in  this  office  the  title  of  a  book,  the  right 
whereof  he  claims,  as  proprietor,  in  the  words  following,  to 
wit: 

11  THE  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION  : 

A  Poem. 


-Thou  bounteous  Giver  of  all  goo  J, 


Thou  art  of  all  thy  gifts  Thyself  the  crown. 
Give  what  thou  canst,  without  Thee  we  are  poor, 
And  with  Thee  rich,  take  what  thou  wilt  away. 

Coippet-."' 

In  conformity  to  the  act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
entitled,  u  An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  se- 
14  curing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors 
•'  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein 
"  mentioned;"  and  also,  to  an  act,  entitled,  "An  act  supple- 
44  mentary  to  an  act  entitled,  an  act  for  the  encouragement  of 
*'  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books, 
44  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the 
14  times  therein  mentioned,  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof 
41  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving,  and  etching  historical 
44  and  other  prints." 

GILBERT  L.  THOMPSON, 
Clerk  of  the  Southern  District  of  New-tyrk. 


PREFACE. 


The  principal  part  of  this  Poem  was  written 
many  years  ago,  in  early  youth.  It  was  not 
then  intended  for  the  public  eye.  But  the  idea 
has  been  suggested,  that  it  might,  perhaps,  in 
some  small  degree,  befriend  the  cause  of  Re- 
ligion. 

With  this  impression,  the  wish  to  withhold  it 
ought  not  to  be  indulged.  It  is,  therefore,  now 
offered  to  the  public,  by  one  who  desires  to 
contribute  what  little  she  can  to  the  happiness 
of  mankind,  which  she  believes  cannot  be  ef- 
fectually promoted  without  that  Religion,  some 
of  £he  pleasures  of  which  are  here  attempted  to 
be  described. 


THE 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 


Oh  thou,  sweet  Bard  of  Memory's  magic  powers ! 
Whose  tuneful  page  can  charm  life's  cheerless  hours  3 
From  the  sad  heart  can  steal  its  present  wo, 
Bid  it  with  blissful  recollection  glow. 
And  thou,  enchanting  Bard  !  whose  youthful  lays 
Gay  Hope  hath  gilded  with  her  brightest  rays, 
Still  shall  yoftr  numbers  joys  refin'd  impart, 
While  memory  soothes,  or  hope  revives  the  heart, 
But  say,  is  Memory  pleasure  ? — In  her  train 
How  often  move  remorse,  regret,  and  pain : 
And  smiling  as  the  enchantress  Hope  appears, 
?he  leads  along  a  group  of  trembling  fears ; 
1* 


6  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

And  oh  !  how  oft  when  darling  buds  just  blow, 
Chill  sweeps  the  blast,  and  lays  the  promise  low. 
Adventurous  maid!  how  dar'st  thou  thus  aspire 
To  touch  with  feeble  hand  a  seraph's  lyre  ? 
Shrinks  not  thy  timid  youth  with  blushing  fear 
To  meet  the  "  world's  dread  laugh,"  the  critic's  sneer  ! 
Why  dread  the  critic's  frown  ?    T  ask  not  Fame 
To  wreathe  her  honours  round  my  humble  name  ; 
E'en  should  the  muse  have  garlands  yet  to  spare, 
I  do  not  ask  them  for  my  auburn  hair — 
Still  let  it  careless  flutter  o'er  my  breast, 
Loose  to  the  wTinds — unlaurell'd,  and  undrest. 

Thou  first,  thou  best  of  beings  '  may  thy  smile 
Prosper  the  fervent  wish  that  prompts  the  toil ; 
Deign  to  pronounce  the  humble  effort  blest, 
And  bid  thy  peace  illume  each  kindred  breast. 

Blasted  in  all  thy  trusting  heart  held  dear, 
Why,  child  of  Hope,  that  unexpected  tear  ? 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

Though  hope  may  promise  rapture's  rich  repast, 
Say,  can  she  promise  that  the  scene  will  last ? 
Then  why  on  joys  so  transient  place  thy  mind — 
Joys  which,  at  best,  at  death  must  be  resigned. 
In  fancied  bliss,  why  waste  the  fleeting  day, 
And  muse,  and  dream,  and  hope  thy  life  away  ? 
Oh  give  me  pleasures  I  must  not  resign — 
Oh  give  me  joys  which  ever  shall  be  mine  ; 
No  cherish'd  hope  which  must  at  last  depart, 
When  stern  Experience  tears  it  from  the  heart ; 
No  soft  romantic  dream  which  Fancy  fires, 
Steals  the  fond  heart,  and  while  it  charms,  expires  ; 
The  child  of  Hope,  then  frenzied  with  despair, 
Drowns  in  her  tears  her  palaces  of  air. 

Phantoms  of  bliss  !  ye  glittering  forms  !  away  : 
Come  to  my  heart,  thou  heaven-directed  ray — 
Dry  every  tear,  bid  earth-born  sorrows  cease, 
And  to  the  bleeding  bosom  whisper  peace.*— 
Give  to  each  painful  passion  that  repose, 
That  heavenly  calm  Religion  only  knows. 


8  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

Oh  sacred  power!  without  thy  cheering  ray, 
How  cold  our  joys !  how  dark  our  brightest  day  ! 
And  when  each  joy  departs  with  fleeting  breath, 
Alas,  how  dark  the  awful  night  of  death  ! 
Tis  thou  alone  can'st  light  the  fearful  gloom- 
To  shrinking  nature  reconcile  the  tomb. 

Let  all  thy  hopes,  thy  boundless  wishes  reign, 
With  all  the  transports  fancy  e'er  could  feign — 
Unite  them  all,  and  be  of  all  posest — 
Now  speak,  ingenuous  bosom,  art  thou  blest  ? 
Dost  thou  not  still  some  unknown  want  deplore  ? 
And  still,  insatiate,  ever  grasp  at  more  ? 
How  cold  must  be  the  heart  which  does  not  prize 
The  thousand  blessings  lavish  earth  supplies  ! 
It  unexhausted  treasures  can  impart 
Which  win,  enchant,  but  ne'er  could  fill  the  heart. 
But  should  Religion  her  blest  influence  lend, 
Redoubled  raptures  all  its  joys  attend  ; 
With  every  charm  she  blends  a  charm  divine, 
>be  can  do  more— can  teach  us  to  resign 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

Since  all  must  be  resign'd,  come  heavenly  power ! 
Whose  smile  can  cheer  the  desolated  hour, 
To  sorrow's  wounds  thy  healing  balm  bestow, 
And  mingle  nectar  in  the  cup  of  wo. 

See  rosy  youth,*  gay,  bounding  o'er  the  plain  ! 
With  health,  grace,  beauty,  laughing  in  her  train  : 
A  thousand  sportive  joys  around  her  fly, 
And  every  hope  lights  up  her  ardent  eye ; 
Her  dreams  of  future  years  expect  to  prove 
Unchanging  friendship,  everlasting  love  ; 


*  This  description  of  youth  was  published,  May,  1804,  in 
11  The  Literary  Magazine  and  American  Register"  of  Philadel- 
phia :  it  was  seen  several  years  afterwards  by  a  friend  of  the 
author  in  an  English  work,  but  without  any  reference  to  the 
source  from  whence  it  was  taken  :  the  author  never  saw  the 
English  book  herself,  but  this  circumstance  is  mentioned,  in 
order  that  any  person  seeing  them  both,  may  compare  th« 
dates. 


10  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

At  each  sad  tale  the  ready  tear-drops  start, 
Each  generous  action  swells  the  enthusiast's  heart  : 
How  sweet  the  tear  which  clouds  the  eye  awhile  ! 
Bathes  hope's  bright  cheek,  then  finishes — a  smile. 
How  sweet  the  feelings  noble  deeds  inspire ! 
Which  burn  to  reach  the  virtues  they  admire  : 
Oh  spring  of  life,  with  every  transport  warm, 
When  all  is  new  and  every  scene  can  charm  ; 
Era  of  bliss  ! — thy  rapid  flight  delay  ; 
Ye  golden  hours — enchanting  moments,  stay  ! 
But  ah !  how  vain  the  wish  !  for  soon  must  fly 
The  roseate  cheek,  the  rapture-beaming  eye  ; 
Bright  tints  of  beauty  we  no  longer  trace, 
The  frolic  step,  or  form  of  agile  grace  ; 
But  can  that  fervid  heart  forget  to  glow, 
And  hear  with  apathy  another's  wo  ? 
Ah  !  shall  that  open  brow  be  stamped  with  guile  ? 
Or  pale  distrust  supplant  that  playful  smile  ? 
Must  all  youth's  vivid  feelings  be  forgot  ? 
Guardians  of  human  bliss !  permit  it  not : 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  11 

Time  !  take  thine  own,  bid  every  charm  depart 

From  youth's  sweet  form,  but  spare  the  youthful  heart. 

Oh  spare  that  heaven-strung  lyre,  with  rapture  stor'd  j 

Blunt  not  the  music  of  a  single  chord  ; 

Though  doom'd  to  notes  of  wo,  still  let  it  own 

Each  soft  vibration — each  entrancing  tone  ; 

Still  let  it  beat  to  every  virtue  just, 

Though  oft  deceived,  oh  may  it  ever  trust ; 

Let  not  cold  interest,  with  his  frown  severe, 

Chill  the  warm  wish,  or  check  the  tender  tear ; 

Bid  friendship  still  with  generous  fervour  burn, 

Though  unrequited  friendship  it  must  mourn. 

Nor  let  affection  from  the  bosom  fly, 

Though  doom'd  to  heave  the  unregarded  sigh; 

Let  not  one  bright  ennobling  passion  cease, 

Nor  lose  one  feeling,  though  to  purchase  peace. 

Oh  thou,  arrayed  in  every  charm  of  youth  ! 

Come  with  that  look  of  innocence  and  truth — 

Come  with  that  glowing,  tender,  artless  breast, 

And  be  a  Saviour's  image  there  imprest. 


12  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

Oh  come,  and  let  Religion's  altar  prove, 
The  fragrant  incense  of  thy  earliest  love. 
When  youth's  gay  scenes  fade  fast  in  thoughtful  years. 
And  sorrow  bathes  the  faltering  steps  in  tears- 
Come  then,  blest  power,  and  thy  celestial  art 
Shall  guide  to  heaven  the  disappointed  heart- 
Shall  tell  us,  in  those  realms  of  love  and  truth 
Bloom  bliss  eternal  and  immortal  youth. 

Who  would  the  soul  in  sordid  wealth  immerse, 
Which  waves  may  swallow,  or  the  winds  disperse  ? 
Without  the  bliss  of  making  others  blest, 
It  gives  no  transports  to  the  generous  breast. 
While  poverty  one  hapless  wretch  destroys, 
How  couldst  thou  revel  in  superfluous  joys  ? 
Can  the  down  pillow,  or  the  velvet  bed, 
Give  sweeter  slumbers  to  the  aching  head  ? 
To  the  rack  d  frame  can  glittering  gold  give  ease  ? 
Or  will  thy  pictur'd  walls  exclude  disease  ? 
Can  the  light  dance,  or  music's  softest  strain, 
Bid  conscience  sleep,  or  charm  to  rest  one  pain  i 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  13 

Full  many  a  robe  adorn'd  with  jewels  rare 
Folds  o'er  a  breast  that  heaves  with  anxious  care  : — 
Full  many  a  fair  one  lifts  her  languid  eyes, 
Sees  all  are  gay,  and  wonders  why  she  sighs. 

Worldling !  thy  joys  are  transitory,  wild  ; 
Oh,  happier  far  Religion's  meanest  child  : 
Would  he  exchange  for  all  thy  boasted  wealth, 
The  peaceful  bosom  >  or  the  glow  of  health  ? 
The  grateful  heart  for  every  blessing  given  ? 
The  sweet  dependence  on  the  care  of  heaven  ? — 
Secure  he  slumbers  on  his  lowly  bed, 
While  howls  the  storm  around  his  straw -roof d  shed. 

Despond  not  then,  ye  children  of  his  love  ! 
Fear  not  one  want  your  Father  can  remove  ; 
That  guardian  power  whose  eye  surrounds  us  all, 
Who  looks  with  pity  on  a  sparrow's  fall ; 
That  heavenly  Father,  merciful  and  mild, 
Will  he  forsake  his  own  adoring  child  ? 


14  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

Or  does  Ambition  prompt  thy  restless  sigh  ? 
Do  fame  and  power  attract  thy  soaring  eye  ? 
Say,  would'st  thou  dare  to  mount  a  tottering  throne  3 
Pants  thy  fond  heart  to  call  a  world  thy  own  ? 
Take  History's  volumes — read  the  annals  there, 
Of  aching  crowned  heads — of  "  sceptred  care ,n 
To  paint  each  mournful  story  to  our  eyes, 
Would  check  aspiring  wishes  as  they  rise, 
Arrest  ambition  in  her  mad  career, 
Bid  envy  melt  in  pity's  softest  tear. 
Were  thine  a  throne,  its  pleasures  and  its  pride, 
Oh  yet  accept  this  sweet,  this  angel  guide  ; 
Her  smile  would  add  new  glories  to  thy  crown, 
And  cheer  thy  soul,  though  all  the  world  should  frown, 
T'was  this  sustained  thee  in  each  trying  scene, 
And  formed  thy  triumph,  lovely  martyr  Queen  ;* 


*Lady  Jane  Grey. 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  15 

Jt  was  Religion  taught  thy  youthful  heart 
With  life,  with  empire,  and  with  love  to  part ; 
T'was  not  ambition  thy  pure  heart  beguil'd  ; 
Ah  how  could  Mary  blame  the  duteous  child  ? 
In  wrath  she  hurl'd  the  fair  usurper  down, 
Tore  from  her  placid  brow  her  transient  crown  ; 
With  vengeful  heart  her  punishment  decreed, 
And  doom'd  the  sweet  Philosopher  to  bleed  : 
She  with  calm  mind  received  her  doom  unmov'd, 
And  suffered  only  in  the  friends  she  lov'd  ; 
Her  conscious  soul  defy'd  a  tyrant's  frown, 
Look'd  to  the  skies,  and  saw  a  brighter  crown  ; 
She  blest  her  murderer,  raised  her  grateful  eyes, 
And  fell — more  nobly  than  the  noblest  rise. 

But  is  ambition  bliss,  its  wish  possest  ? 
Oh  tell  us,  then,  why  are  not  heroes  blest  ? 
Say,  does  not  Ceasar's,  Alexander's  fame, 
Degraded,  sink  in  Howard's  nobler  name  ? 


16  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

He  forg'd  no  chains  to  bind  the  bleeding  breast, 

But  loos'd  the  chains  of  innocence  opprest ; 

His  generous  heart  for  other's  wrongs  could  feel, 

And  traversed  the  wide  world  those  wrongs  to  heal  j 

His  laurels  cost  no  wretch  his  last  deep  sigh, 

He  reads  his  triumphs  in  the  thankful  eye  ; 

They  cost  no  widow's  tear,  no  orphan's  groan, 

But  the  sweet  tear  of  gratitude  alone. 

Must  not  these  deeds  a  richer  joy  afford 

Than  bleeding  thousands  conquered  by  his  sword  ? 

Than  burning  towns,  than  palaces  laid  low, 

Than  shouts  of  victory  mix'd  with  groans  of  wo  ? 

Oh  dawn,  blest  day  !  when,  savage  fame  resign 'd, 

Man  lives  the  friend — not  murderer  of  his  kind  ; 

When  war's  inhuman  paths  no  more  are  trod, 

And  all  ambition  is  to  serve  our  God  ; 

Fade  blood-stained  laurel !  war  thy  clangour  cease  ! 

Commence  thy  reign,  oh,  glorious  Prince  of  Peace  * 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION,  17 

Or  should  thy  heart  with  softer  passions  swell, 
Cling  to  the  friend  it  soon  must  bid  farewell : 
Relentless  death  no  prayers,  no  vows  can  move, 
Nor  friendship's  tears,  nor  agonies  of  love  : 
Clos'd  is  the  eye  that  cheered  our  brightest  day — 
Mute  the  lov'd  voice  that  charm'd  our  griefs  away — 
Cold  the  warm  heart  our  blessings  once  could  bless, 
Whose  sympathy  made  every  sorrow  less  : 
Oh  what  can  memory  from  her  stores  supply, 
To  check  the  pang,  or  dry  the  tearful  eye  ? 
Or  what  can  hope,  with  all  her  smiles,  impart, 
To  soothe  the  anguish  of  the  plundered  heart  ? 

How  sweet  this  midnight  scene  !  the  breeze  that  blows 
Sterns  but  to  hush  all  nature  to  repose  ; 
The  full-orb'd  moon,  its  nightly  course  begun, 
Bright  and  unclouded,  seems  a  softer  sun  ; 
See  her  beams  glimmer  where  the  willows  wave 
Their  drooping  foliage  o'er  the  new-made  grave  1 


18  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION 

What  lovely  form  appears,  so  sad,  so  fair, 
Her  dark  robes  mingling  with  her  streaming  hair  ? 
The  clock  tolls  twelve  ;  sweet  mourner!  what  has  power 
To  break  thy  slumbers  at  this  silent  hour  ? 
No  sleep  is  broken,  Emma  knows  no  sleep, 
But  steals  at  midnight  o'er  the  grave  to  weep: 
See  the  once  shrinking  fair  one  fearless  tread, 
Through  the  long  grass,  and  o'er  the  slumbering  dead, 
Sink  on  the  well-known  spot  she  came  to  seek, 
And  give  the  clay-cold  turf  her  fading  cheek  ! 
No  tears  she  sheds,  but  sighs  of  black  despair 
Burst  from  her  heart,  and  tell  the  anguish  there. 
Two  fairy  forms  now  glide  across  the  green, 
The  one  with  pensive,  one  with  joyous  mien  : 
;Tis  musing  Memory  ;  gayly  at  her  side 
Moves  Hope,  our  flatterer,  our  delusive  guide  ; 
Around  the  moonlit  scene  they  cast  their  eyes, 
Then  bend  their  steps  where  Emma  mourning  lies. 

M  I  come,"  said  Memory,  "  to  relieve  thy  pain, 
Almost  to  give  thee  Henry  back  again  ; 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  19 

I  to  thy  heart  his  image  will  restore — 
Will  count  his  charms,  his  talents,  o'er  and  o'er  ; 
Revive  those  scenes  his  smiles  did  once  improve, 
Speak  with  his  voice,  and  look  his  looks  of  love — 
Bring  to  thine  ear  his  touching  voice  in  prayer, 
Which  rose  to  heaven,  and  told  his  heart  was  there — 
Dwell  with  enchanted  pause  on  every  grace, 
Which  once  illum'd  his  soul-expressive  face — 
Recal  with  vivid  touch  those  happy  hours, 
When  in  thy  path  love  strew'd  its  sweetest  flowers  : 
Thy  Henry's  virtues  shall  each  thought  employ, 
Which  form'd  thy  home  a  Paradise  of  Joy." 

"  Hence,  busy  Memory,  from  my  tortur'd  heart, 
With  all  thy  train  of  images,  depart : 
To  me  no  power  like  thine  can  bring  relief, 
Each  touch  thy  pencil  gives,  renews  my  grief; 
Paint  not  those  flowers  that  love  and  joy  once  gave. 
Which,  blasted,  wither  on  my  Henry's  grave  ; 
Paint  not  his  virtues,  once  my  fond  heart's  boa-f , 
To  that  fond  heart  forever — ever  ta 


20  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

Oh  bid  no  more  thy  heightened  picture  glow, 
Thou  giv'st  each  pang  unutterable  wo. 
Come,  blest  oblivion !  all  my  senses  steep, 
And  lull  each  feeling  in  eternal  sleep; 
Oh  my  lost  love !  revive  in  breathing  charms, 
Or  lock  thy  Emma  in  thine  icy  arras." 

The  hapless  fair  one,  wilder  with  despair; 
Roll'd  her  dark  eyes,  and  tore  her  silken  hair  ; 
With  frantic  voice  her  Henry's  shade  addrest, 
Kiss'd  his  cold  grave,  and  clasped  it  to  her  breast : 
Then  starts,  her  Henry's  fancied  voice  she  hears, 
Faints  on  the  turf,  and  bathes  it  writh  her  tears  ; 
Then  smiling  Hope  unveiPd  her  beauteous  face, 
That  blue-ey'd  charmer  of  the  human  race  ; 
11  Weep,  Emma,  weep,"  she  said,  "  but  cease  to  rave, 
Nor  strew  such  ringlets  on  the  unconscious  grave  ; 
Raise  from  the  senseless  ground  those  charming  eyes, 
And  view  my  fairy  prospects  round  thee  rise  : 
My  richest  treasures  shall  thy  woes  beguile, 
The  world  admiring  courts  again  thy  smite  ; 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  21 

Whole  years  of  joy  in  bright  succession  see, 
Look  up,  sweet  maid,  I  promise  all  to  thee." 

"  Oh  flatterer !  cease,  my  bleeding  bosom  spare, 
Offer  no  joys  my  Henry  cannot  share  ', 
What  is  the  world  to  me  ? — its  charms  are  o'er, 
They  all  expired  when  Henry  breathed  no  more  ; 
JTwas  he  alone  could  every  scene  endear  ; 
Talk  not  of  hope — my  hope  is  buried  here." 

Rejected  Hope  then  found  each  promise  vain, 
And  veil'd  her  blushes  in  her  azure  train, 
Hid  her  fair  head  among  the  willow  boughs. 
And  bound  the  flexile  foliage  round  her  brows. 
Another  form  now  meets  the  raptur'd  eyes, 
Whose  seraph  mien  bespeaks  her  native  skies  ; 
Of  radiant  white  her  robes  celestial  flow'd, 
And  heaven's  own  halo  round  her  temples  glow'd; 
Serene,  benign,  her  angel  face  exprest 
The  errand  which  her  melting  voice  addrest. 


22 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 


"  Is  then  thy  hope  beneath  that  grassy  sod  ? 
Oh,  guilty  mourner,  hast  thou  left  thy  God  ? 
Return  !  return  !  his  word  forbids  despair — 
Rise  from  that  grave,  thy  Henry  is  not  there  ; 
In  heaven  his  spirit  dwells,  released  from  pain — 
And  wouldst  thou  bring  him  back  ta  earth  again  ? — 
Tear  from  his  angel  brows  his  heavenly  crown, 
And  from  seraphic  glory  drag  him  down  ? 
Oh  impious  wish  !  Oh  most  unhallowed  prayer  ! 
Forgive,  my  God,  the  accents  of  despair! 
Far  from  thy  heart  such  selfish  grief  remove, 
And  bid  it  melt  in  penitence  and  love. 
Did  that  great  God,  whom  countless  worlds  obey, 
Who  fills  the  throne  of  universal  sway, 
To  whom  all  nature  owes  her  form  and  breath, 
Descend  to  pain,  to  poverty,  and  death  ? 
And  shall  the  soul  whose  guilt  enhanc'd  his  doom, 
Pour  all  its  sorrows  o'er  a  mortal's  tomb  ? 
Waste  thus  on  earth  its  warmest,  noblest  fires, 
And  feel  no  anguish  when  its  God  expires  ? 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  2* 

Can  thy  hard  heart  forget  his  wondrous  love, 
Who  left  for  thee  his  realms  of  bliss  above  ? 
With  every  earthly  joy  thy  fond  heart  glow'd, 
Yet  quite  forgot  the  God  who  all  bestowed. 
Still,  still  he  loved  thee,  and  in  mercy  mild 
He  gave  the  wound  to  bring  him  back  his  child. 
'Twas  mercy's  self  that  laid  thy  idol  low, 
And  dash'd  thy  cup  with  bitter  drops  of  wo. 
Come  to  his  throne,  there  pour  thy  soul's  distress, 
He  yet  will  pity,  and  forgive,  and  bless  ; 
Come  to  his  throne  !  his  spirit  can  impart 
Celestial  balm  to  heal  the  breaking  heart : 
And  when  a  few  short  years  of  life  are  o'er, 
Thy  Henry  thou  shalt  meet  to  part  no  more." 
Thus  spoke  Religion  :  was  a  heart  e'er  given 
That  would  resist  tlie  eloquence  of  Heaven  ? 
The  mourner  kneels  :  no  more  with  sorrow  wild — 
"  Receive,  oh  father !  thy  repenting  child  ; 
Forgive  the  heart  which  fainted  at  thy  rod, 
Which  raourn'd  its  Henry,  and  forgot  its  God  ; 


24  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

My  earthly  all  to  thee  I  now  resign, 

Oh !  heal  ray  bleeding  heart,  and  make  it  thine. 

Attendant  on  Religion,  Memory  come  ! 

Sweet,  soothing  maid  !  and  make  my  breast  thy  home, 

The  countless  blessings  of  my  life  recall, 

And  raise  my  heart  to  him  who  gives  me  all : — 

Here  too,  sweet  Hope  I  thy  joyous  footsteps  bend, 

Come,  charmer,  come  !  and  be  again  my  friend  ; 

Promise  no  transports  by  this  poor  world  given, 

But  come,  with  angel  smile,  and  talk  of  heaven." 

When  thus  our  earthly  comforts  far  remove, 
And  the  grave  closes  o'er  the  forms  we  love. 
Religion  comes  to  bring  us  sweet  relief, 
Soothes  the  sad  heart,  and  gives  a  charm  to  grief ; 
Tells  us  a  Father  pities  our  distress, 
Corrects  to  heal,  and  wounds  us  but  to  bless  ; 
Lifts  the  adoring  eye  of  faith  above, 
To  him  who  loves  us  with  a  father's  love. 

Forc'd  from  his  only  darling  child  to  part, 
'Twas  this,  La  Roche  !  that  cheerd  thy  aching  heart ; 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  36 

Thy  faltering  steps  supported  to  her  bier, 
Mingled  the  christian's  with  the  parents  tear  ; 
Rais'dthe  meek  eye,  submissive  kiss'd  the  rod, 
And  saw  the  father  in  the  chastening  God  ; 
There,  as  he  view'd  thy  sorrowing  heart  adore, 
The  melting  sceptict  wish'd  to  doubt  no  more. 

Close  to  her  heart,  her  only  earthly  joy. 
The  widow'd  Mother  clasps  her  beauteous  boy, 
With  mournful  pleasure  views  each  dawning  grace, 
And  bathes  with  Memory's  tears  his  cherub  face  : 
"  Sweet  face  !  with  all  a  father's  beauty  blest, 
With  every  feature  most  beloved  imprest, 
My  orphan  babe  !  no  more  a  father's  arms 
Extend  with  rapture  for  thy  infant  charms  ; 
Two  guardian  hearts  thy  fate  did  once  allow — 
Thy  mother's  breast  is  all  thy  refuge  no^r  ; 


*  Hume. 


26  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

In  this  sad  breast  life's  flame  doth  dimly  shine, 
And  shows  that  refuge  cannot  long  be  thine : 
My  wasting  form  bespeaks  a  hastening  doom  ; 
Soon  I  shall  join  thy  father  in  the  tomb. 
And  must  I  go  and  leave  his  child  behind, 
A  friendless  orphan  !  to  a  world  unkind  ? 
Who  then  will  watch  thy  steps,  dispel  thy  fears, 
Kiss  from  thy  beauteous  eyes  the  starting  tears  ? 
My  orphan  babe  unheeded  will  complain, 
And  seek  a  parent's  fostering  arms  in  vain  ; 
But  why  these  sorrows  ?  why  these  guilty  fears  ? 
Away,  ye  anxious,  agonizing  tears  ! 
What  though  thy  father,  by  misfortune's  frown, 
Could  leave  no  wealth  to  rear  his  infant  son  ? 
'Twas  this  sad  thought  embitter'd  his  last  sigh, 
Yet  hope  in  heaven  illum'd  his  closing  eye  ; 
That  sigh  was  heard,  that  hope  its  wish  shall  gain, 
Ne'er  can  the  Christian  sigh  and  hope  in  vain. 
Yes,  thou  sweet  object  of  our  tenderest  cares, 
We've  laid  thee  up  a  treasury  of  prayers; 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  27 

And  when  death's  slumber  seals  thy  mother's  eyes, 
And  the  cold  earth  o'er  her  hush'd  bosom  lies, 
The  widow's  God,  the  orphan's  friend  divine, 
My  heavenly  Father  will,  my  child !  be  thine. 
Oh,  ever  faithful,  merciful,  and  just, 
Receive  a  dying  mother's  precious  trust." 

The  purest,  tenderest  love  on  earth  confest, 
Is  that  which  warms  a  feeling  mother's  breast ; 
A  thousand  sweet  emotions  form  a  glow 
None  but  her  generous  bosom  e'er  can  know  ; 
Yet  cold  that  love  a  mother's  breast  reveals, 
To  that  which  God  for  all  his  children  feels  ; 
Could  in  one  heart  all  human  love  appear, 
T'were  cold  to  that  which  met  the  soldier's  spear. 

He  who  for  us  the  path  of  suffering  trod, 
Met  all  the  wrath  of  an  offended  God, 
Resign'd  in  deepest  agonies  his  breath, 
Pierced  with  our  sins,  yet  lov'd  us  e'en  in  death, 


28T  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION 

Bore  every  sorrow  that  we  none  might  prove — 
Yes,  bleeding  Saviour,  this  indeed  was  love. 
Mother !  sweet  name  !  invok'd  in  every  pain, 
Forever  breath'd  when  infant  lips  complain — 
First  lov'd,  first  taught,  in  cherub  accents  sung, 
When  sounds  imperfect  flutter  on  the  tongue  ; 
Oh  cherish'd  name  !  by  every  tie  endeard, 
So  lov'd  in  ehildhood,  and  through  life  rever'd  ; 
When  memory  lifts  the  veil  of  years  between. 
Gives  to  my  view  my  childhood's  rosy  scene, 
With  each  scene  blended,  thy  dear  form  I  trace, 
Gaze  on  each  feature  of  thy  charming  face  ; 
Again  our  hearts  thy  fond  caresses  prove, 
Thy  pleasing  tasks  enforc'd  with  smiles  and  love  ; 
Death  from  our  arms  thy  guardian  form  convey'd, 
E'er  yet  our  years  thy  anxious  cares  repaid; 
But  why  that  mournful  thought  ?  tby  God  hath  given. 
An  earlier,  richer  recompense  in  heaven. 
Time's  lenient  hand  hath  bid  our  grief  remove, 
We  give  thy  gentle  image  only  love  ; 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  SI 

The  tear  that  bathes  thy  name  from  pain  is  free, 
Peace  loves  the  sigh  that  Memory  gives  to  thee  ; 
But,  recent  grief  compels  the  bitter  tear, 
And  mourns,  transcendent  youth  !  thy  early  bier : 
Reluctant  do  I  wake  the  heartfelt  sigh, 
And  press  the  chord  whose  touch  is  agony  ; 
Fain  would  1  spare  the  streaming  eyes  of  those 
Whose  kindred  hearts  still  bleed  for  kindred  Woes ; 
But  yet  permit  the  pensive  muse  to  come, 
And  drop  one  flow'ret  on  his  laurelled  tomb. 

Here  sleep  those  eyes  where  dwelt  the  soulenshrhVd, 
Where  dawn'd  the  heart,  where  flash'd  the  effulgent  mind. 
Whose  rapid  lightnings  could  conviction  dart, 
E'er  yet  his  voice  impressive  reach'd  the  heart ; 
O'er  every  noble  feature  genius  shone, 
And  wrote  in  sunbeams,  "  see  my  favourite  son," 
WThile  heavenly  virtue,  with  her  touch  divine* 
Bade  genius'  rays  with  brighter  glory  shine  : 
Nor  was  his  form  less  perfect  than  his  face, 
The  sculptor's  model  for  all  manly  grace  ; 


30  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

Blest  with  those  gifts  to  heaven's  best  favourites  give? 
With  grateful  heart  he  offer'd  all  to  heaven  ; 
To  God  he  gave  his  talents  and  his  youth, 
And  breathd,  with  seraph  voice,  resistless  truth  ; 
His  genius,  glowing  with  celestial  fire, 
His  matchless  eloquence,  his  tuneful  lyre, 
The  treasures  his  exhaustless  mind  possess'd, 
By  powers  like  mine  can  never  be  express'd  ; 
These  to  portray  must  be  the  historian's  part — 
T'was  ours  to  know  his  generous  feeling  heart ) 
In  every  sorrow  it  was  our's  to  prove 
The  melting  fondness  of  a  brother's  love — 
Instructor  !  guardian  !  kind  and  gentle  guide  ! 
Thy  heart  our  refuge,  and  thy  name  our  pride  ! 
Thy  rising  greatness  was  our  hope's  sweet  dream. 
Thy  countless  virtues  memory's  dearest  thenae. 
Still  is  that  morning  present  to  my  view, 
When  his  lov'd  voice  pronounced  its  last  adieu  ; 
With  lingering  step  he  left  his  father's  door ; 
(Those  welcome  footsteps  shall  return  no  more ;) 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  31 

A  look  of  smiling  tenderness  he  cast — 

Oh,  darling  brother  !  was  that  look  our  last  ? 

On  life's  dark  day  will  never  more  arise 

The  brightening  dawn  of  those  soul-speaking  eyes  ? 

Soon  came  the  tidings  which  bade  peace  depart, 

And  rent  with  anguish  each  devoted  heart : 

His  ardent  soul,  of  pure  ethereal  flame, 

(Oh,  far  too  ardent  for  his  earthly  frame,) 

Sudden  receiv'd  the  awful  mandate  given, 

Had  burst  its  mortal  bands,  and  soar'd  to  heaven. 

Oh,  blest  religion,  t'was  alone  thy  power 

That  could  sustain  the  sorrows  of  that  hour ; 

Teach  us  to  bid  our  murmurings  all  depart, 

And  yield  to  God  the  idol  of  each  heart. 

What,  gone  forever?  all  our  wishes  crost  ? 
No  !  much  lov'd  brother,  no  !  thou  art  not  lost ; 
Fame's  deathless  garland,  which  thy  name  en  wreathe 
Still  in  our  path  its  soothing  fragrance  breathes  ; 
Thou  art  not  lost ! — a  widow 'd  mother's  care, 
Two  infant  boys,  thy  beauteous  image  bear  : 


32  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

Thou  art  not  lost ! — for  thy  dear  memory  lives — 

Thy  blest  example  every  precept  gives  ; 

And  while  for  thee  we  pour  the  unceasing  tear, 

Methinks  thy  angel  spirit  whispers  near, 

"  Let  not  such  anguish'd  tears  my  loss  deplore, 

We  yet  shall  meet  where  tears  will  be  no  more." 

Lo  !  yon  poor  wretch,  with  guilt  and  misery  prest, 
Whose  waken'd  conscience  racks  his  tortur'd  breast ; 
The  world  pursues  him  with  relentless  scorn, 
Far  from  that  world  he  flies — sad,  lost,  forlorn  : 
Can  Memory  soothe  him  ? — no,  she  counts  each  crime, 
And  haunts  him  with  the  ghost  of  murder'd  time  ; 
What  can  Hope  offer  for  a  wretch's  aid, 
Condemn'd  by  every  law  which  heaven  hath  made  ? 
Prostrate  he  lies,  all  humbled  in  the  dust ; 
What  can  he  hope  since  God  is  always  just  ? 
A  gentle  voice  forbids  him  to  despair ; 
Is  there  relief  for  him  ? — oh  tell  him  where  : 
Naird  on  the  cross  a  bleeding  Saviour  dies, 
And  God  accepts  the  awful  sacrifice  : — 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  33 

Go,  at  his  cross  thy  guilt  and  misery  lay, 
His  streaming  blood  will  wash  them  all  away  ; 
Redeem'd,  renew'd,  approv'd,  and  pardon'd,  rise  ! 
Thy  God  can  bless  thee,  though  the  world  despise. 

Lo!  on  that  dreary  couch,  where  hovers  death, 
A  harden'd  atheist  draws  his  gasping  breath  ; 
On  life's  lov'd  day  he  shuts  reluctant  eyes, 
And  dreams  no  future  morning  shall  arise  ', 
Thinks  in  the  grave  to  end  his  guilt  and  care, 
And  tries  to  hope  his  soul  will  perish  there. 
Cold  fallacy !  and  can  the  soaring  mind, 
Which  e'en  creation's  limits  cannot  bind, 
Forever  mounting  to  the  realms  of  day, 
Can  it  descend,  and  mingle  with  the  clay  ? 
Or  lives  there  one,  whose  soul  of  noble  fire 
Feels  that  it  never — never  can  expire  ? 
And  yet,  distrustful  of  his  lord's  commands, 
He  throws  his  sacred  volume  from  his  hands  ; 
Presumptuous  dares  its  stamp  divine  disown, 
And  give  to  God  a  homage  of  bt3  own. 


34  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

His  honour,  nature,  reason,  are  his  guides, 
And  down  the  stream  of  life  he  smoothly  glides. 
See  death  approach,  with  all  his  trembling  train 
Of  hopes  and  fears — of  wishes — all  in  vain  ! 
Yes,  he  must  die ;  he  knows  that  fear  is  just; 
He  feels  he  dies,  yet  knows  not  where  to  trust ; 
He  cannot  disbelieve  a  future  state, 
Yet  doubts  distract  him  of  his  future  fate  : 
Through  his  dark  mind,  what  clouds  uncertain  roll ! 
No  Saviour's  smile  to  cheer  his  fainting  soul- 
No  blissful  hope  of  all  his  sins  forgiven  ! — 
No  sweet  assurance  of  a  promised  heaven ! 
Clos'd  is  the  eye,  the  ebbing  pulse  is  dead  ; 
Fled  is  the  soul — ah  !  whither — whither  fled  ? 
Lives  there  a  mind  where  Heaven  profusely  pours 
Rich  gifts  of  genius,  learning's  boundless  stores — 
"Wit's  sparkling  eloquence,  bright  fancy's  art, 
With  every  charm  that  fascinates  the  heart  ? 
Who  all  ungrateful  for  such  talents  given, 
loins  t)iem  to  Satan's  bands,  ond  wars  with  heaven  j 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  35 

Draws  forth  a  brilliant  pen,  bids  falsehood  shine, 

And  breathes  enchantment  o'er  each  poison'd  line  ; 

With  fiend-like  ardour  dares  fair  truth  oppose, 

And  makes  his  traitor  gifts  religion's  foes  ; 

Oh  !  yet  relent !  what !  would  tby-eruel  rage 

Dash  from  the/eeble  arm  the  crutch  of  age  ? 

Remove  the  surest  guide  of  giddy  youth, 

And  drive  the  asking  wanderer  far  from  truth  ? 

Quench  the  sweet  beam  which  lights  each  dark  distress  ? 

Bid  suffering  virtue  cease  to  hope  redress  ? 

Silence  the  thankful  heart  for  blessings  given  ? 

Remove  the  childlike  confidence  in  heaven  ? 

Take  from  the  poor  man  all  his  lot  that  cheers  ? 

Bid  him  in  anguish  steep  his  crust  in  tears  ? — 

But  say,  oh  !  canst  thou,  cruel  as  thou  art ! 

Wrest  the  last  treasure  from  the  plundered  heart  ? 

The  last  soft  ray  that  gilds  the  vale  below  ? 

That  star  that  rises  on  the  night  of  wo  ? — 

When  the  grave  takes  what  earth  can  ne'er  restore, 

Can  thy  hard  bosom  bid  us  meet  no  more  ? 


^6  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION 

But  if  no  pity  can  thy  hand  arrest, 
Nor  stay  the  baleful  purpose  of  thy  breast, 
Oh  !  yet  relent — let  fear  thy  soul  alarm, 
Dare  not  the  thunder  of  the  Almighty's  arm. 
Yet  if  no  danger  thy  bold  hand  restrain, 
If  pity,  terror,  mercy,  plead  in  vain, 
Madman  !  rush  on,  pursue  thy  dark  design, 
But  know,  to  triumph  never  can  be  thine. 
Ne'er  hope  to  blot  the  gospel's  sacred  page  ; 
It  scorns  thy  malice — it  derides  thy  rage. 
First  from  its  sphere  bid  yon  bright  orb  be  hurl'd, 
And  bid  us  wander  o'er  a  darken'd  world  ; 
Thy  vain  attempts  shall  prove  thine  own  disgrace, 
And  break  like  billows  at  the  rock's  firm  base. 
Or  breathes  there  one  who  reads  God's  precious  word- 
Admires  the  precepts — says  he  loves  the  Lord, 
And  yet  with  blinded  heart  and  thick-film'd  eyes, 
Sees  only  man — the  atoning  God  denies  ? 

Who  was  that  promis'd  One,  so  long  foretold, 
Faiths  straining  vision  languisjid  to  behold, 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION.  37 

Shadowed  with  blood,  to  show  redemption's  plan, 

Himself  the  sacrifice  for  ruin'd  man  ; 

Dark  ages  roll,  and  lo  !  the  dawn  appears, 

Through  a  long  vista  of  unfolding  years, 

He  comes,  the  infant  God  descends  to  earth  ; 

And  herald  angels  sing  his  joyful  birth. 

No  marble  palace  with  its  lofty  dome, 

Becomes  the  heavenly  stranger's  honour'd  home  ; 

A  manger  holds  the  God  whom  we  adore, 

Nor  could  earth's  splendour's  add  one  glory  more. 

Why  does  the  world's  creator  thus  appear 
Without  a  home  ? — His  kingdom  is  not  here  ; 
No  greeting  princes  throng  the  gladden'd  plain, 
But  saints  and  angels  form  his  only  train. 
Do  heaps  of  slain  and  carnag'd  fields  afford 
The  trophies  gain'd  by  his  resistless  sword  ? 
No,  these  are  deeds  by  earthly  heroes  won, 
Not  such  the  triumphs  of  God's  only  son  ; 
The  Father  s  image  by  his  God  approv'd, 
Proclaim'd  from  heaven  the  Son  of  God  belov'd  : 
4 


38  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

The  miracles  he  wrought  while  here  below, 
Were  miracles  of  love  o'er  human  wo  ; 
He  heals  the  sick,  bids  Satan's  fiends  depart, 
Raises  the  dead,  and  binds  the  bleeding  heart ; 
He  heals  the  lame,  the  dumb,  the  deaf,  the  blind, 
Pours  peace  and  pardon  o'er  the  guilty  mind  ; 
By  his  blest  hands  are  hungry  thousands  fed, 
He  is  himself  our  souls'  immortal  bread  y 
By  his  obedience  and  example  given, 
He  marks  with  living  light  our  path  to  heaven  : 
He  dies — in  agonies  fulfils  his  doom, 
But  rises,  glorious  conqueror  of  the  tomb; 
'Tis  done  !  yet  still  on  earth  he  deigns  to  stay, 
To  soothe  each  fear,  drive  every  doubt  away  ; 
But  lo  !  that  bright  refulgent  morn  appears, 
And  spreads  its  blushes  round  the  glowing  spheres, 
Heaven's  gates  unfold  their  everlasting  light, 
And  hosts  of  angles  wait  the  enrapturing  sight, 
Impatient  seraphs  tune  each  golden  string, 
To  sound  the  triumphs  of  their  rising  king ; 


PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

But  oh  !  what  sound  such  ecstacy  imparts, 

Tis  like  the  music  of  dissolving  hearts, 

In  feeling  sweetness,  seraphs  strains  above, 

'Tis  ransom'd  saints  that  sing  redeeming  love  . 

Angels  and  saints  unite  in  blest  accord, 

To  welcome  back  their  dear  returning  Lord. 

To  Bethany  he  leads  his  little  band, 

To  bless  them,  see  him  lift  each  pierced  hand, 

See  them  his  parting,  tender  charge  receive, 

Through  them  he  blesses  all  that  shall  believe ; 

He  rises  from  the  earth,  a  cloud  of  light, 

A  glorious  cloud  receives  him  from  their  sight ; 

Swiftly  it  wafts  him  through  the  realms  of  air, 

To  Heaven,  to  live  our  intercessor  there. 

Think'st  thou  this  God,  this  Saviour,  e'er  will  own 
That  soul-less  homage  paid  to  man  alone  ? 
Oh  !  poor  return  for  all  thy  love  hath  done, 
Thou  man  of  sorrows,  God's  eternal  Son  ; 
And  did'st  thou  leave  thy  heaven  and  die  for  this  ? 
Again  does  Judas  give  his  traitor  kiss  ? 


40  PLEASURES  OF  RELIGION. 

From  thee  Redemption's  diadem  is  torn, 
Again  'by  sacred  brows  are  pierc'd  witli  thorn ; 
They  from  thy  hands  thy  kingdom's  sceptre  bear, 
And  place  a  reed,  the  insulting  emblem,  there  ; 
Again  the  Lord  of  life  is  mock'd  and  tried, 
x\nd  worse  than  foes — by  friends  is  crucified. 

But  weep  not,  Christians,  do  not  yet  complain, 
Nor  fear  the  Saviour's  blood  hath  flow'd  in  vain ; 
Ten  thousand,  thousand,  thousand,  round  his  throne 
Bless  their  redeemer  God-— his  glory  own> 
And  yet  ten  thousand,  thousand,  thousand,  more 
Shall  hail  his  name  from  earth's  remotest  shore  \ 
To  him  all  nations  come,  all  hearts  shall  bless, 
Each  knee  shall  bow,  and  every  tongue  confess  ; 
O'er  the  whole  earth  his  knowledge  shall  o'erflow, 
As  the  waves  wash  the  ocean's  deeps  below. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


LUKE,  CHAPTER  23,  VERSE  34. 

Then  said  Jesus,  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do] 

Now  dark,  and  darker  grew  the  hour, 

His  cup  of  suffering  overflows, 
Death  hastens  on,  with  awful  power, 

His  spotless,  earthly  life  to  close. 

Dread  hour !  when  God  his  son  forsook, 
And  all  the  curse  of  sin  pour'd  down, 

When  earth  to  her  foundations  shook, 
And  darken 'd  nature  felt  his  frown. 


42  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Thick  clouds  of  anguish  onward  roll'd, 
The  tempest  of  an  angiy  God ; 

He  views  the  amazing  scene  unfold, 
Yet  firm  the  almighty  victim  stood. 

Forsook  by  all,  deny'd,  betray'd, 
Condemn'd  his  father's  frown  to  prove, 

He  sees  it  all,  yet,  undisraay'd, 
Pursues  his  wonderous  work  of  love. 

Still  for  his  own  his  wishes  rise, 
Still  are  his  saints  his  dying  care, 

He  to  his  father  lifts  his  eyes, 
He  breathes  for  them  his  soul  in  prayer. 

While  nail'd  upon  the  cross  he  hung, 
And  pour'd  forth  his  atoning  blood, 

Still  blessings  trembled  on  the  tongue, 
Of  the  expiring  Saviour  God. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  43 

Oh  !  in  each  humble,  faithful  heart, 

May  his  dear  memory  ever  live, 
To  bid  revengeful  thoughts  depart, 

And  teach  us,  like  him,  to  forgive. 

When  treacherous  foes  our  peace  invade, 

Or  deepest  injuries  fire  our  rage, 
Oh  thou  !  who  for  thy  murderers  pray'd, 

The  painful,  guilty  storm  assuage. 

Thy  name  bids  every  passion  cease, 

But  that  of  fervent  love  divine, 
For  oh  !  thou  bleeding  prince  of  peace  I 

What  love  hath  ever  equall'd  thine  ? 


44  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


CHRISTIAN  HOPE. 

Though  clouds  obscure  my  youthful  days, 
And  darken  o'er  my  morning  skies, 

The  sun  may  break  with  dazzling  blaze, 
And  in  meridian  splendour  rise. 

And  though  these  clouds,  with  thickening  gloom, 
And  gathering  shades,  should  still  increase, 

Nor  leave  me  till  I  find  my  tomb, 
Yet  there  at  last  will  all  be  peace. 

Oh  silent  mansion  !  bed  of  rest ! 

Retreat  from  sorrow,  pain,  and  care  1 
JN'o  storms  thy  slumbers  can  molest, 

No  cruel  arrows  reach  me  there. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  45 

In  deep  repose  there  dwell  the  just, 
No  heart  bleeds  there,  no  passion  sighs, 

There  sleeps  my  mother's  sacred  dust, 
And  there  my  much-lov'd  brother  lies. 

But  is  this  3ilent,  dark  retreat, 

All  that  a  Christian  dares  to  claim  ? 
Does  he  approach  the  mercy  seat, 

And  ask  a  grave  in  Jesus'  name  ? 

Did  Jesus  leave  his  throne  on  high. 

And  death  with  every  anguish  brave  ? 
And  did  he  groan,  and  bleed  and  die, 

To  give  his  ransom'd  ones  a  grave  ? 

And  is  this  all  his  power  hath  wrought  ? 

His  perfect  life,  his  bitter  woes  ? 
And  is  this  all  his  blood  hath  bought  ? 

And  all  his  matchless  love  bestows  ? 


46  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Oh  sinner  !  doom'd  in  depths  below 
Thy  endless  misery  to  deplore, 

Art  thou  redeem'd  from  deathless  wo, 
And  dar'st  thou,  sinner,  ask  for  more  ? 

Oh  yes  !  my  Saviour's  precious  blood 
Hath  purchas'd  more  ;  in  him  I  trust : 

Dear  faithful  Saviour !  pitying  God  ! 
Thou  wilt  not  leave  me  in  the  dust. 

Oh  well  have  I  deserv'd  the  doom 
From  which  thy  grace  hath  set  me  free, 

And  yet  I  hope  to  hail  the  tomb, 
But  only  as  the  door  to  thee. 

I  ask  not  cold  unconscious  rest, 
Not  such  thy  glorious  promise  given  ; 

I  ask  to  be  forever  blest, 
I  ask  a  crown — I  ask  a  heaven. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  47 

REVELATIONS,  CHAPTER  22,  VERSE  16. 

The  bright  and  morning  star. 

From  friends  belov'd  and  comfort  far, 
While  tears  of  memory  bathe  ray  face, 

Rise  on  ray  heart  "  bright  morning  star," 
With  all  thy  beams  of  heavenly  grace. 

Oh  glorious  star !  lead  on  the  day 
Whose  light  alone  can  make  me  blest ; 

All  clouds  of  sorrow  flee  thy  ray, 

And  grief  forsakes  the  troubled  breast. 

Grant  me  that  light  thy  gospel  knows, 
Grant  me  that  peace  by  thee  reveal'd, 

The  peace  this  faithless  world  bestows, 
Is  treacherous — 'tis  but  wto  conceal'd. 


48  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Why  do  these  restless  wishes  rise  ? 

These  anxious  hopes  ?  this  torturing  fear  ? 
For  earthly  treasures  why  these  sighs  ? 

My  Saviour's  kingdom  is  not  here. 

My  all  to  thee  I  now  resign, 

To  thee  I  raise  ray  longing  eyes ; 

Bright  star  !  oh  shed  !  thy  rays  divine, 
Oh !  sun  of  righteousness  arise. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


THE  DYING  FATHER. 

li  Soon  as  this  painful  throb  hath  fled, 
How  sweet  in  sleep  I  then  shall  rest ;" 

He  said — he  bow'd  his  reverend  head, 
And  slumber'd  on  his  Saviour's  breast 

Saviour  !  to  thee  he  gave  his  days, 
Firm  faith  in  thee  his  acts  proclaim, 

With  what  a  zeal  he  lov'd  thy  praise  ! 
With  what  a  voice  announced  thy  name  ! 

A  precious  charge  he  leaves  thee,  Lord ! 

The  object  of  his  tenderest  cares, 
The  guardian  of  the  wealth  he  stor'd 

Por  them — a  treasury  of  prayers. 
5 


50  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

That  charge  the  faithful  Lord  will  take, 
Of  all  that  do  his  name  confess  ; 

IVotone.of  us  will  he  forsake, 
Not  one  but  he  will  love  and  bless. 

'Midst  welcoming  kindred  throngs  of  light, 
A  well-known  form  advancing  shone  ; 

He  views,  and  oh!  transporting  sight  1 
He  meets — he  hails  his  seraph  son. 

Who  o'er  his  father's  life  had  thrown 
A  long — and  ah  !  how  bright  a  ray ! 

That  son,  so  lov'd  !  heaven  claim'd  its  own, 
And  clouds  the  father's  closing  day. 

Was  heaven  unkind  ?  speak  glorious  saint, 
To  whom  its  smiles  no  more  conceal'd  ; 

Whosebliss  no  human  thought  can  paint, 
Nor  ear  hath  heard— nor  tongue  reveal'd. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES  51 

Our  heavenly  father  !  at  thy  throne 
We  pour  our  woes  ;  we  yet  may  prove, 

Our  bleeding  bosoms  yet  may  own, 
This  bitter  cup  was  mix'd  in  love. 

Our  Lord  !  Our  God,  to  thee  we  pray, 
Bid  every  murmuring  thought  depart : 

Thou  wilt  not  take  thyself  away  ; 
Let  this  blest  thought  console  each  heart. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


NIGHT  VISION. 

Her  head  was  reclin'd  on  the  pillow  of  night, 
And  clos'd  were  her  eyes  upon  day's  mournful  truth, 
When  fancy  brought  back,  on  her  wings  of  delight, 
The  sleeper's  sweet  childhood — the  dawn  of  her  youth. 

A  mother's  fond  care  o'er  her  childood  presides, 
Those  eyes  of  affection  how  mildly  they  beam  ! 
Her  precept  to  Heaven  and  happiness  guides  : 
The  sleeper's  heart  throbs  with  the  exquisite  dream. 

Her  sisters  !  oh  lov'd  ones  !  how  bright  they  appear! 
Dear  forms !  as  they  rise,  they  new  transports  impart, 
To  catch  their  sweet  accents  her  soul  is  all  ear  ; 
She  feels  their  fond  pressure— she  leans  on  each  heart. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  53 

A  brother's  dear  name  fame's  loud  clarion  repeats, 
While  praises  and  blessings  the  sounds  still  pursue  ; 
The  sleeper's  charm'd  bosom  with  exstacy  beats, 
And  deep  glows  her  cheek  with  joy's  roseate  hue. 

Her  father,  her  father,  oh  vision  divine  ! 
That  brings  her  the  image  her  heart  most  reveres  ; 
It  bends  o'er  to  bless  her,  with  looks  so  benign, 
That  the  sleeper's  clos'd  eyelashes  glitter  with  tears. 

Now  morn  washes  those  eyes  which  the  night  had  so  blest, 

It  wakes  to  bedew  them  with  memoiy's  tear  ; 

Ye  visions  of  bliss  that  enraptured  her  rest ; 

Oh  !  tell  her,  ye  lov'd  ones  !  are  none  of  you  near  ? 

Oh  where  is  her  mother  ?  her  infancy's  friend  ! 
Whose  precept  instructed  each  virtue  to  prize  ? 
Earth  knows  her  no  more — early  called  to  ascend, 
She  relinquished  her  charge,  and  repair'd  to  the  skies. 


54  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Her  brother  !  to  heaven  he  hallow'd  his  bloom, 
With  a  seraph's  devotion  gave  each  glowing  fire, 
Genius  sighs,  science  droops,  virtue  weeps  o'er  his  tomb, 
And  hush'd  are  the  chords  of  his  exquisite  lyre. 

Her  father !  how  deep  heaves  the  agoniz'd  sigh  ] 

Thy  records,  oh  death !  her  heart's  treasures  enrol  ; 

That  awful,  that  tender,  that  eloquent  eye, 

And  that  voice  which  once  startled  the  slumbering   soul. 

But  hush'd  be  each  murmur,  suppress'd  every  sigh, 
Let  each  tear  from  the  tremulous  eyelid  be  driven ; 
Oh  mourner !  oh  orphan  !  from  earth  raise  thine  eye } 
Thy  treasures  of  earth  are  now  treasures  iu  heaven. 

Thy  sisters  those  lov'd  ones  !  thou  yet  shalt  behold : 
Again  shalt  thine  eyes  rest  on  faces  so  dear  ; 
Their  welcoming  arms  thy  form  shall  enfold, 
Thou  shalt  feel  their  fond  pressure,  their  sweet  accent* 
hear. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  55 

Oh  bless  them,  dear  Saviour !  and  breathe  o'er  each  heart, 
Thy  spirit  the  earnest  of  glory  divine  ; 
And  though  scatter'd  on  earth  we  now  sorrowing  part, 
We  shall  meet  in  thy  heaven — forever  be  thine. 


m  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

JOHN,  CHAPTER  11,  VERSE  35. 

Jesus  wept. 

When  Mary  heard  the  Lord  was  near, 
She  weeping  ran  and  prostrate  cry'd, 

"  Oh  Lord !  my  Lord  !  hadst  thou  been  here. 
Thy  friend,  my  brother,  had  not  died." 

The  Saviour's  pitying  heart  was  mov'd, 
His  spirit  spoke  in  troubled  sighs, 

Inquird  the  tomb  of  him  helov'd, 

"  Oh  come,  my  Lord  !  see  where  he  lies  ! 

Aud  "  Jesus  wept,"  those  eyes  divine, 
Where  opeuing  heaven  to  faith  appears; 

Where  God's  refulgent  glories  shine, 
Are  dimin'd  with  softest  human  tears. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  57 

Then  weeping,  to  the  grave  they  led  ; 

He  bids  "  take  ye  the  stone  away," — 
"  Four  days,  my  lord,  he  hath  been  dead, 

Nought  there  remains  but  mouldering  clay." 

"  Come  forth,"  then  cried  the  Lord  of  all, 
Thy  victor  comes — Death  cease  thy  strife  ; 

Death  heard  dismay 'd  his  conqueror's  call, 
And  gave  his  prisoner  back  to  life. 

Ascended  Saviour !  heaven  ador'd  ! 

Does  mortal  grief  thy  heart  still  move  ? 
My  weeping  God  !  my  bleeding  Lord  I 

Ah !  who  can  ever  doubt  thy  love  ? 

What  heavenly  peace  thy  word  imparts ! 

Our  hearts  burn  in  us  as  we  read, 
Come  here,  ye  mourning,  breaking  hearts. 

And  view  the  Saviour  that  ye  neeu\ 


58  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

He  can  remove  each  pain  you  dread, 
His  healing  hand  will  wipe  your  eyes, 

And  when  you  mourn  your  comforts  dead, 
Will  bid  far  sweeter  comforts  rise. 

In  life,  in  death — in  him  we  trust, 

On  earth  his  smiles  shall  cheer  our  breast, 

And  he  will  wake  our  sleeping  dust, 
To  live  with  him  forever  blest. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  '& 


LINES 

Written  in  the  "  Guide  to  Domestic  Happiness"  lent  by  a 
Friend. 

Oh,  thou  !  whose  gospel  first  didst  peace  impart, 

And  call'dto  bliss  my  wandering,  mourning  heart, 

Whose  mercy  pardons,  and  whose  heavenly  power 

Sheds  tenderest  blessings  on  each  passingliour, 

Ah  •  should  I  e'er  so  lost,  so  wretched  be, 

To  give  my  heart  to  one  that  loves  not  thee  ; 

Whose  lips  nor  conduct  own,  nor  seek  my  God, 

Nor  ask  an  interest  in  my  Saviour's  blood  ; 

What  e'er  his  charms,  his  virtues,  or  his  love, 

My  heart  might  break  ;  its  purpose  should  not  move  ; 

My  hand  !  oh  never,  never  should  he  gain, 

His  love — nay  mine — should  plead,  should  weep  in  vain. 

My  Heavenly  Father,  shouldst  thou  only  lend 
To  me  the  name  of  child,  of  sister,  friend  ; 


tift  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Subdue  my  wayward  wishes  to  thy  will, 
Teach  me  with  joy  each  duty  to  fulfil  ; 
But  guard  from  love  my  heart,  my  ears,  my  eyes, 
And  shield  my  peace  from  its  seductive  sighs  : 
From  pangs  of  hopeless  love  my  bosom  spare, 
Nor  let  its  torturing  arrows  rankle  there. 
My  lovely  friend  !  thy  Guide  I  now  restore  ; 
Tt  claims  as  duty,  what  was  choice  before  ; 
And,  oh  !  when  love,  in  lasting,  hallowed  bands, 
Shall  join  congenial  hearts,  and  yielding  hands, 
May  the  dear  youth,  so  favoured  and  so  blest, 
The  earthly  sovereign  of  thy  feeling  breast, 
May  he,  with  heart  renew'd  by  grace  divine, 
Adore,  with  thee,  the  God  that  made  him  thine. 

Oh  blest  Religion  !  thou  can^t  bid  us  prove, 
New  joys  in  friendship,  softer  charms  in  love  : 
The  ties  thou  forms't  more  lasting  joys  contain, 
Than  all  romance  or  fancy  e'er  could  feign  : 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  61 

Then  souls  unite,  and  heavenly  hope  the  same, 
Each  passion  glows  a  brighter,  holier,  flame. 
How  sweet  the  mutual  faith !  the  banish'd  fear  ! 
The  answering  smile  !  the  sympathetic  tear  ! 
How  sweet  with  hearts  imprest  for  blessings  given, 
To  breathe  united  gratitude  to  Heaven  ! 
How  sweet  through  life  to  share  one  fate,  one  heart, 
With  the  blest  hope  in  heaven  no  more  to  part ! 


62  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


A  VIEW  OF  DEATH. 

'Tis  o'er — that  deep  sigh  was  the  last, 
The  last  of  mortal  grief  and  pain, 

Death's  gloomy  horrors  all  are  past, 
And  finish'd  all  his  mournful  reign. 

Around  the  couch,  in  deep  distress, 
The  earthly  friends  desponding  sigh, 

Their  trembling  hands  the  pale  brow  press, 
And  close  the  dim  and  soulless  eye. 

And  is  this  all  of  one  so  dear, 

Those  lifeless  lips  no  more  will  move, 
To  utter  sounds  so  sweet  to  hear, 

So  full  of  wisdom  and  of  love. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  63 

How  pale  that  cheek,  where  lately  bloom'd 
The  heart's  warm  blush,  health's  roseate  hue, 

The  shrouded  form  must  be  entomb'd, 
And  shut  forever  from  our  view. 

How  sad  to  mortal  eyes  this  seems — 
Oh  could  we  lift  the  thick  dark  shade 

That  veils  this  land  of  empty  dreams, 
From  that  where  glories  never  fade. 

Then  where  our  mortal  eyes  now  see, 
The  form  in  death's  cold  sleep  recline, 

We'd  view  the  soul  from  sorrow  free, 
Exulting  in  its  change  divine. 

Where  mourning  friends  now  meet  our  sight, 
Weeping  their  dear  one's  early  doom, 

We'd  see  rejoicing  throngs  of  light, 
To  hail  the  happy  spirit  home. 


64  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Still  higher  visions  on  us  break, 

Angels  and  Saints  adoring  bend  ; 
Spirit !  to  endless  rapture  wake — 

Thy  God  appears,  thy  Saviour,  friend  ? 

Tis  he  !  the  joy  of  every  Saint — 

Death's  glorious  conqueror — Prince  of  Grace  5 
Nor  pen,  nor  tongue,  nor  thought  can  paint 

The  beauties  of  his  heavenly  face. 

He  speaks  !  the  highest  seraph's  lyre, 

In  the  full  choir  of  heavenly  song, 
Could  not  such  extasy  inspire, 

As  that  which  to  his  words  belong. 

"  Thou  blessed  of  my  Father  come, 

Enter  thy  long  prepar'd  abode, 
Thy  glorious  everlasting  home, 

Bought  with  my  sufferings  and  my  blood." 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  65 

Transporting  sounds,  how  sweet  they  flow ; 

Yet  as  the  spirit  soars  above, 
It  casts  upon  its  friends  below 

A  parting  glance  of  pitying  love. 

Farewell,  then,  happy,  happy  soul, 

Up  to  his  courts  with  Jesus  go, 
Ages  on  endless  ages  roll, 

Yet  still  increasing  glory  know. 

And  is  this  death  ?  then  why  this  gloom, 
Why  meet  this  friend  with  weeping  eyes, 

That  drops  the  fetters  in  the  tomb, 
And  lifts  the  spirit  to  the  skies. 


66  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


DESPONDENCY. 

I  thought  of  friends  forever  dear, 

Whose  smiles  have  cheered  my  earthly  day, 
How  sad  would  be  the  parting  tear, 

What  grief  surround  the  lifeless  clay  ? 

I  thought  of  him,  so  good,  so  kind, 

His  silent  and  his  cherish'd  wo, 
And  how  his  manly,  christian  mind, 

Would  struggle  to  sustain  the  blow. 

Two  infant  forms,  so  sweet,  so  fair, 
Would  then  the  aching  heart  possess, 

Who  long  will  want  a  mother's  care, 
Their  untaught  steps  to  guide  and  bless. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

These  thoughts  arrest  the  soaring  mind, 
And  force  it  back  to  darker  day, 

The  soul  sinks  down  with  earth  entwin'd, 
And  all  Heaven's  visions  flee  away. 

The  seraph's  harp  no  more  it  hears, 
In  heavenly  song  so  full,  so  sweet, 

But  all  dissolv'd  in  nature's  tears, 
Sinks  weeping  at  its  Saviour's  feet. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


PSALM  23,  VERSE  4. 


Yen,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil, 
Jor  thou  an  with  me  ;  thy  rod  and  thy  ilaff  they  comfort  me. 


Though  with  friends  and  relations  with  sorrow  I  part, 
And  the  gloom  of  the  valley  affrights  my  sad  heart, 
Yet  thy  voice,  my  dear  Saviour,  can  banish  each  fear, 
And  whisper  my  soul  that  thy  heaven  is  near. 

When  pain  rends  my  frame,  and  I  struggle  for  breath, 
And  my  pale  brow  is  wash'd  with  the  cold  dew  of  death. 
I  will  think  on  thy  anguish,  thy  groans  on  the  tree, 
And  how  dearly  thy  love  purchased  heaven  for  me. 

When  on  Jordan's  drear  borders,  where  shrinking  1  view, 
The  cold  and  dark  waters  my  soul  must  pass  through, 
I  will  think  Thou  art  with  me !  and  then  my  blessed  soul, 
Shall  mount  on  the  cold  waves  as  darkly  they  roll. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  6< 

If  my  faith  should  now  faint,  or  like  Peter's  should  fail, 
And  trembling  and  sinking,  my  terrors  prevail, 
I  will  call  on  my  Saviour,  and  his  gentle  hand, 
Shall  raise  me,  and  lead  me  to  heavenly  land. 

If  my  eyes  should  grow  dim,  and  no  longer  can  see 
Those  long  cherish'd  promises  glorious  and  free, 
I  will  call  on  my  Saviour,  he'll  clear  my  dim  sight, 
And  unfold  a  bright  vision  of  heavenly  light. 

Then  why  the  dark  hour  of  death  should  we  fear, 
'Tis  an  hour  of  rapture  when  Jesus  is  near  ; 
'Tis  the  Christian's  bright  Pisgah ;  his  purified  eyes 
Views  his  Father's  own  country — his  Home  in  the  skies. 

Oh  ask  not  his  stay — a  king's  throne  and  power, 
Are  too  poor  to  invite  him  to  linger  one  hour  ; 
Oh  ask  not  his  stay,  for  his  chariot  is  come, 
And  Angels  are  waiting  to  fly  with  him  home. 


70  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


A  HYMN. 

Yes,  I  will  go,  my  Saviour  calls, 
I'll  leave  my  worldly  cares.behind, 

Enter  my  heavenly  Father's  walls, 
And  offer  him  a  heart  resign'd. 

Resigned — and  canst  thou  give  no  more  ? 

Oh  yes  :  when  he  his  love  reveals, 
When  my  heart  counts  his  mercies  o'er, 

It  scarce  hath  room  for  all  it  feels. 

And  canst  thou  count  his  mercies  o'er  ? 

First  count  each  sand  that  bounds  his  sea, 
Count  every  star  that  paves  his  floor, 

Then  count  his  acts  of  love  to  thee. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Encircled,  cherish'd,  here  below, 
By  friends,  relations,  children  dear  ; 

Oh  thou  !  from  whom  these  blessings  flow, 
Teach  me  thy  goodness  to  revere. 

Still  greater  blessings  hast  thou  given, 
My  soul  enraptur'd  reads  thy  word  ; 

Where  faith  surveys  its  promis'd  heaven, 
Thy  gift  I  my  dying,  rising  Lord  ! 

And  when  opprest  with  nature's  gloom, 
We  weep  for  those  our  hearts  still  prize  \ 

Faith  lifts  the  eye  that  bathes  their  tomb, 
To  view  them  glorious  in  the  skies. 

Oh  cherish'd  hope  !  bright  star  of  peace  ! 

To  the  dark  night  of  sorrow  given, 
To  bid  despairing  murmurs  cease, 

The  lost  on  earth  are  found  in  Heaven. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

All  pains  are  past,  all  sins  forgiven, 
There  Jesus'  praise  all  harps  employ  ; 

And  where  he  reigns,  in  heart  or  heaven, 
All  must  be  love,  and  all  be  joy. 

Oh  Saviour  God  !  our  sacrifice  ! 

How  does  the  kindling  spirit  burn  i 
The  human  heart  exhausted  sighs, 

And  mourns  as  poor  its  best  return. 


THE  END. 


